


That Forgotten Wednesday

by BellatrixLives



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Friendship, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-09
Updated: 2014-01-09
Packaged: 2018-01-08 02:13:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1127169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BellatrixLives/pseuds/BellatrixLives
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>*Season 3 Spoilers* Prompted by part of Sherlock's speech in The Sign of Three. "As a mental exercise, I've often planned the murder of friends and colleagues. Now, John I'd poison. Sloppy eater. Dead easy. I've given him chemicals and compounds that way. He missed a whole Wednesday once, didn't have a clue." John may not remember that Wednesday, but Sherlock does. Johnlock</p>
            </blockquote>





	That Forgotten Wednesday

" _As a mental exercise, I've often planned the murder of friends and colleagues. Now, John I'd poison. Sloppy eater. Dead easy. I've given him chemicals and compounds that way. He missed a whole Wednesday once, didn't have a clue."_

John may not remember that Wednesday, but Sherlock does. It was a few weeks before he was forced to fake his death, and stands out prominently in his memory.

* * *

Moriarty had been keeping a low profile and Sherlock had been helping the police solve a string of crimes; a man who was attacking women, but the women had no recollection of the event. They would just wake up the next day not realizing anything was wrong until they saw the bruises covering themselves. Naturally, it hadn't taken Sherlock long to find the culprit responsible. A man thinking he had nothing to fear from his victims can be extremely sloppy.

Sherlock found himself particularly interested in what the attacker had used to deprive these women of their memories. What he discovered was a compound that when ingested affected short-term memory, but only after the drinker fell asleep. The theory seemed to be that the compound would have no noticeable effect on a person until they went to sleep, and then they would forget everything that happened to them between when they first drank the concoction and when they closed their eyes.

He was very curious to test it. Sherlock didn't believe that the compound would really have no effect at all on the drinker. He was curious to see what side effects there may be, perhaps drowsiness, black outs, slurred speech, etc. So, he did what he always does when he needs someone to help him. He went to John.

Not wanting John to have any psychosomatic symptoms, which he's known for, Sherlock decided it best to not tell him about the experiment. Instead he just mixed the compound into John's tea one morning and acted as if nothing was amiss.

As the day went on Sherlock was unable to notice any differences in John's behavior. He knew he administered the drug correctly, and the results the attacker had received were inarguable. Sherlock realized that the compound worked just as described. John would have no ill side effects, but he would also have no memory of today.

Normally, Sherlock keeps himself very carefully composed, carrying himself with a certain air about him not wanting anyone to see how vulnerable he really feels. That day though, after he and John retired to their flat for the evening, Sherlock decided that he could let his façade slip, at least a little. There would be no consequences, after all.

They lounged in the sitting room, John rambling on about another case they just finished, an unbelievably simple missing child case.

"I mean who takes three days to realize their child is missing?" John asked, shaking his head in distaste.

It turned out that the boy had been staying at a friend's house just a few blocks over. Something the parents didn't know for almost three days until they noticed he hadn't asked for his lunch money for the week.

Sherlock shrugged slightly.

"Mycroft and I would go days without seeing our parents whenever possible. We would sneak up into the attic to avoid being sent into the neighborhood and made to socialize with other children."

"Well, you aren't exactly normal now are you?"

Sherlock tried not to bristle at John's offhand comment. He knew John didn't think less of him because he isn't, as they put it, 'normal', but it still bothered him.

"Exactly what is that supposed to mean?" Sherlock asked. "Many people become anxious in new social situations. That type of anxiety is statistically very common… positively normal from the mathematical standpoint."

"Sorry, I wasn't meaning for that to sound rude. I just meant that you don't need other people like most do."

Sherlock was about to change the subject when he remembered the compound coursing through John's system.

"I need people," he says quietly.

John laughed.

"Needing Mycroft's clearance level, or Greg to arrest someone for you isn't what I meant. I meant you don't need companionship like most people," John's tone sounded light, but Sherlock could sense the underlying accusation.

"I need you."

"I'm sorry?"

John wrinkled his brow, the poster child of confusion.

"I said 'I need you.' Your companionship… it is… important to me."

"Thank you," John finally replied, still a bit bewildered. "Your companionship is important to me as well."

Sherlock sat up straighter.

"Is it?"

"Yeah, course it is."

Sherlock scrunched his face and stared at the wall, not sure how much he should say.

_He won't remember._

"When you say  _companionship_ ," Sherlock asked, "you mean—?"

That time it was John who shrugged, not meeting Sherlock's eyes.

"Oh, you know. Your friendship, your company."

"Oh."

John's gaze snapped back, studying Sherlock intently.

"Why? Did you mean something else?"

"What? No, of course not," Sherlock answered a bit too fast.

He jumped up from his chair and started pacing the room, looking for anything to distract him. He decided he did not want to broach this topic after all.

"Sherlock," John started, standing up as well, "you know you can tell me anything."

"No, John, I really can't. Half of the things I could tell you would probably be beyond your comprehension."

Sherlock stood next to his desk, fingering through a stack of case files.

"That's not what I meant and you know it," John said, temper rising. "You always do that! Whenever the subject turns uncomfortable for you, you strike out and insult anyone near you."

John walked over next to him and grasped Sherlock's wrist, keeping him from reaching for another file.

"What did  _you_  mean by companionship?"

"I don't know," Sherlock answered, voice low.

"Do you… do you have more than friendly feelings for me?"

No response.

"Sherlock—"

Sherlock tore his wrist away from John and turned so he could look directly down at his face.

"I don't know! I'm not that kind of person, John you know that… you've always known that. I don't know what I meant by companionship, because I don't know what it is I'm feeling."

Sherlock groaned, running his hands through his hair.

"Tell me what you do know. Maybe I can help you figure it out," John offered.

"What I know is that I've never felt like this before. I've never had a friend before, John. I don't know what is and isn't normal. All I know is that I am drawn to you, that you are the cleverest and kindest man I know, that you make me smile, that when I'm around you I forget that I am a recovering addict, and when I am away from you I  _remember_  because the pull I feel to get back to you is just like needing another hit," Sherlock rambled, saying everything in one long breath.

John stared at him, brown eyes wide.

"Is that normally how friends feel?" Sherlock asked.

John cleared his throat.

"Some of it," he said.

"But not all of it?" Sherlock pressed.

John shook his head no, all the while still staring up at Sherlock.

"Then who does?"

Sherlock just noticed the dilation of John's pupils before the doctor's lips were on his.

Sherlock stood still completely frozen at first, having no clue what to do. Then something flared to life within him, something primal and beyond his control urged him to give in. Told him this is what he had been wanting.

Sherlock relaxed, closed his eyes and pulled John closer to him, wanting as much contact as possible. John's arms snaked out to encircle Sherlock's neck, one hand twined into his soft black curls.

There was an unfamiliar warmth in the pit of Sherlock's stomach that grew stronger the longer John's soft lips were pressed against his. John nipped at his lower lip, causing Sherlock to gasp. It was just the opening John needed to dart his tongue out and deepen their kiss.

It was too much. That new kind of pleasure, it was too all consuming. Sherlock pulled away, his breathing labored and mind clouded. He and John had stood there, still wrapped in each other's embrace, and just stared at one another.

Sherlock had been the first one to pull away. He backed up, his face blank with shock.

"S—sorry," John stammered. "I probably shouldn't have—"

"Don't be sorry," Sherlock interrupted. "That was… interesting."

John blushed.

"It was a bit… interesting, wasn't it? I mean I'm not, well I've never… done that with…"

"A man?" Sherlock supplied.

John nodded.

Insecurity washed over Sherlock, something he had only ever felt around Mycroft and the Woman, and he found himself shyly questioning John.

"Was it… alright?"

John blushed deeper and started rubbing the back of his neck.

"I'd say it was rather better than 'alright'. What about you? Did you— did you enjoy it?"

Sherlock thought carefully, or tried to. He felt flustered, warm, and his heart was racing.

"I suppose I did," then after seeing John's hurt expression, he added, "that was one of the most enjoyable experiences I can call to mind."

John beamed at him.

It was then that Mrs. Hudson appeared at the door, carrying a tray of tea and biscuits.

"Thought you boys would like a cup before bed," She said cheerily and set the tray on the coffee table.

They thanked her hurriedly, and though she seemed a bit annoyed with their abruptness she had went on her way leaving them alone.

Sherlock and John sat next to one another on the couch, sipping their tea in silence. Just like Sherlock knew he would be, John was the first to talk.

"Are we going to talk about this?"

"What is there to say?" Sherlock asked.

"Was it a one time thing?"

"What do want me to say?"

Sherlock was truly interested; he had no idea what he was supposed to do. That was just another situation he never thought he would encounter.

"I just want to know if this is going to happen again. If it is going anywhere."

"John, I don't think I have the capacity for a real relationship. I wouldn't be able to handle one."

"Damn it, don't do that! Stop trying to pretend you can't feel like other people, when you've just clearly expressed that you can. Relationships are always hard work, but they can be very worth it. I think… I think we're worth it."

Sherlock contemplated that. John had already humanized him in so many ways; perhaps a relationship would only do that more so. It was going to be hard work though, and with the Moriarty threat hanging over them now just wasn't the time for it.

Sherlock shifted sideways on the couch to fully look at John.

"Perhaps you are right," he said. "I need some time to think, though. Perhaps we can discuss this in the morning?"

John smiled and placed a hand on Sherlock's knee.

"Of course."

Shortly thereafter they decided to call it a night. They both stood to head to their rooms, pausing awkwardly.

"Well, goodnight then," John said, and then walked towards the stairs.

Something like panic exploded in Sherlock's chest and he grabbed John's arm turning the doctor to face him. Sherlock cupped John's chin with his elegant long fingers and leaned down to give him a lingering kiss.

John was smiling when they parted and this time it was Sherlock who blushed.

"I'm a scientific man, John," Sherlock said haughtily. "I needed more data to think on."

John snorted and gave a half nod.

"Well. I'll be upstairs if you need any more."

John went to his room, the smile still etched on his face.

The next morning was more painful than Sherlock had anticipated. John came downstairs, greeted him with nothing more than a half wave, and went about his morning ritual.

"Don't we have a case about a missing child we are supposed to work on?" He called from the kitchen.

Sherlock sighed and jotted down notes about the effectiveness of the memory-altering compound.

_It's for the best at the moment. I can recreate the scenario after I handle Moriarty. So long as John is still single… I wouldn't want to cause him any pain by interfering in a real relationship._


End file.
